


After The War Was Won

by TheseWordsAreMyOwn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-21 16:31:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18706090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseWordsAreMyOwn/pseuds/TheseWordsAreMyOwn
Summary: Everything was still.None could believe it was truly over.The reactions of all of the major players after the events of 8x03(**Note: So despite saying this was it I may have added more...)





	1. After the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I have a sneaking suspicion that 8x04 is going to start with the funerals, so I thought I'd do my own "fill in the gaps" for what happens before that.

Everything was still.

Everyone stood frozen in place for who knows how long, staring around unbelievably at the many bodies of the dead littered around them – the STILL bodies of the dead. 

It was Podrick who broke the silence.  “What happened?”

“The Night King must be dead,” Brienne replied.  “That was the only way to stop them all.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment before it was broken by the sound of Tormund’s laughter.  He turned to Gendry who was standing next to him and gripped him tightly in a bear hug, his laughter soon joined by the scatted cheers of others as they realised that they had WON.

Brienne, Jaime and Podrick shared relieved smiles.  Gendry slid down to the ground in exhaustion once Tormund had released his grip on him.  Grey Worm stood off to the side, breathing heavily as he stared at the carnage around him, a frown on his face as if he still couldn’t believe it.

The sound of movement had everyone back on their feet, grasping weapons once again, but instead of the dead rising again they were met by the Hound emerging from a side door, Davos right beside him. 

“Does this mean we won?” the Hound asked.

“Looks like it,” Davos replied, looking around at the shell shocked survivors.  Spotting Gendry stumbling over to him, he smiled, meeting him halfway and embracing him.  “Glad you made it lad.”

“You too.”  Hearing a sniffle, Gendry turned to see Sam sitting surrounded by a pile of wights, staring blankly ahead, tear stains streaking his filthy face.  He only looked up when he saw Gendry’s hand appear in his vision.  Reaching up, Sam grasped the hand that was offered him, and the blacksmith helped him to his feet, his free hand grasping Sam’s arm, their eyes meeting.  They had never met before this moment but they gave each other a reassuring nod, comrades in arms who had survived the Great War.

Everyone turned at the sound of many footsteps heading towards them and they saw many of those who had been down in the crypts.  Gilly was the first to race forward, rushing forward with little Sam to throw herself in Sam’s arms, Gendry stepping away to give the pair a moment.  Grey Worm also surged forward at the sight of Missandei and the pair met in a heated kiss, gripping each other desperately.  Jaime hurried forward when he spotted Tyrion, falling to his knees in front of his little brother and they engulfed each other in a relieved hug.  Sansa stood still, her eyes roaming around the courtyard, searching.

Missandei pulled back from Grey Worm and looked around.  “Where is the queen?”

“Here,” replied a voice from the shattered entry.  Daenerys walked towards them, the beginnings of the dawn arising from behind her.  Her back was held stiffly upright despite the blood streaking her clothes and her eyes filled with unshed tears.  But a queen she was and despite her grief a queen she was going to appear.

“Where is Jon?”  This time it was Sansa who had spoken.

“He was going to the godswood,” Daenerys replied, ignoring the worried looks of Missandei and Grey Worm.  “He was going to Bran.”

As one, the small group started walking towards the godswood. They never reached it, for emerging from the gloom they were met by Jon, pushing Bran in his chair with Arya beside them dragging her feet in exhaustion and absently rubbing at her throat.

Sansa gave a small cry and rushed forward.  She ran to Bran first and embraced him, then moved to Jon behind Bran’s chair and then finally Arya.  Arya gripped Sansa tightly, and Sansa could feel her slump slightly against her, exhausted, so when she pulled away she made sure to keep a firm arm wrapped around her younger sister’s waist for support.

Sansa looked behind them, dread filling her.  “Theon?”

Jon shook his head.  “I’m sorry Sansa.”

Tormund came barrelling in, wrapping Jon in a large hug.  “You did it!  You fucking did it!  You killed the Night King!”

Jon shook his head.  “The dragon had me pinned down – I couldn’t get to Bran.  It wasn’t me who did it.”  He nodded his head towards Arya.  “It was Arya – she killed him.”

There was a moment of silence that was soon broken by the Hound’s barking laugh.  “So that’s where you disappeared to.”

“Lady Arya Stark,” Tyrion said in admiration.  “The Kingslayer.”

“No,” Jaime objected.  “Her actions have saved us all.  She deserves a more honourable name.”

“The Slayer of Death?” Tyrion suggested.

“No,” Bran spoke up finally.  “The Bringer of the Dawn.”

“Arya Stark!” Daenerys’ voice rang out.  “The Bringer of the Dawn!”

“Bringer of the Dawn!” cheered the small crowd in the courtyard (which had grown with more people emerging to find out what had happened) before one by one, they each bent down onto one knee, hands on heart.  Arya stared around at all of these people paying tribute to her (to _her_ , she who was No One for so long), all down on bended knee except for two – Daenerys at the back (this didn’t surprise Arya – she was a queen after all and queens don’t bow, but she did smile and place a hand on her heart, bowing her head in respect; and Sansa, who feared that if she let go of Arya (who was leaning more and more on her for support) the poor girl would collapse.  Instead, she looked down at her, unadulterated pride shining from her eyes.

Glancing around, Arya saw that while the others had their heads bowed, Gendry was staring straight at her, a brilliant smile on his features and Arya felt her lips start to curl in response.  Composing herself, she aimed a kick at Jon in front of her.  “Oh don’t be stupid,” she scoffed.  “Get up.”

Jon grinned as he stood and the rest of the courtyard followed suit.  His smile soon faded as he looked out at the group of survivors gathering around him.

“We’ve won,” he called out for all to hear him.  “And yet we have still lost so much.  Fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters, friends.   We are all exhausted and we all deserve a long rest.  I hate to ask this of you, but we cannot rest just yet.  We need to search for survivors – the Night King has already taken so much from us – we must do our best to see he doesn’t take any more.  I’m going to head out and search for survivors – I will need some help.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam said quietly from where he stood beside Gilly, and a chorus of voices followed.

“We can put the wounded inside the great hall.  We can’t leave the dead lying around either,” Sansa said.  “We don’t want them spreading disease.”

“We had some carts in the forge,” Gendry said.  “If they are still intact we can use them to move the bodies.”

“We’re going to have to burn the bodies,” Jon said.  “There are just far too many for us to bury.”

“We can pull apart our defences,” Davos suggested.  “Use that and whatever we can for a pyre.”

Arya spoke up.  “I can –”

“NO!” several voices shouted out, not just Jon and Sansa’s but Brienne’s, Gendry’s and the Hound’s as well.

“No offence my lady but you look as if you are about to collapse,” Brienne spoke up.

“And you need that cut on your head sewing up,” Sansa agreed.

“It’s a minor cut.  There are others helping out with worse,” Arya argued.

“You’ve done fucking enough,” the Hound growled.  Arya met his eyes.  “Let us do our part now.”

Realizing she wasn’t going to win this fight and feeling too tired to argue, Arya dropped it.

Pushing Bran’s chair, Jon led his brother out of the courtyard as the crowd broke apart to start the clean up.  Sansa, her arm still supporting Arya started to follow when Arya suddenly stopped.  She had grabbed Gendry’s arm as he was about to move away and turned him so that he was looking at her.

“You’re alive,” she said softly.

“So are you,” he replied with a gentle smile.  “I guess we’ve shown over the years that we’re both pretty hard to kill.”

Arya grinned, unable to draw her eyes away from Gendry’s.    He placed a hand over the one gripping his arm.  “Go with your family – I’ll come and see you later.”

Sansa watched the interaction with curiosity but didn’t say anything, and after Arya had nodded and finally released her grip on Gendry’s arm, she led her sister, the Bringer of the Dawn, through the piles of fallen dead, after their family.


	2. Jon, Sam and Grey Worm

Jon trudged through the snow, with Sam on his left, Grey Worm at his right and several Unsullied behind them.  In the light of the dawn they could see the carnage around them – it was unbelievable.  They were heading towards where the Dothraki had fallen in the first charge.  He supposed the odds of finding anyone still alive were slim, but considering they were the first to fall he figured that should be the first place they should look – any survivors would need medical attention as soon as possible.

Jon glanced over at Grey Worm who was his usual silent self.  “I wanted to thank you,” Jon said.  Grey Worm turned to look at him, a question in his eyes.  “For coming to Winterfell.  Fighting for the North.  This wasn’t your fight and you and your people came and fought for us, died for us.  So thank you.”

Grey Worm shook his head.  “It WAS our fight.  We are the living.”

Jon nodded solemnly as they approached a long line of what appeared to be mainly the bodies of fallen horses before them.  He figured that the vast majority must not have died immediately for surely they should have risen when the Night King had raised the dead.  John turned to his left to find Sam staring blankly ahead as he walked, unshed tears still in his eyes.

“You alright Sam?” Jon asked softly.

Sam snapped out of his daze and turned to Jon.  He shook his head, his voice choking up.  “I haven’t told you this yet but Edd is dead.  He died saving my life.”

Jon inhaled sharply.  He figured as much since he still hadn’t seen any sight of him but it still hurt to have the confirmation.

“I shouldn’t have been out there,” Sam continued, staring off into space again.  “I got him killed.  He was a far better fighter – he should be the one still alive, not me.  It should have been me.”

Jon stopped and stopped in front of Sam, gripping his arms tightly and snapping him out of his stupor.

“Don’t you dare say that Sam.  You have Gilly, you have little Sam.  You’re my friend, you were Edd’s friend.  I’m sure if he had to make the choice again he would do the same thing.  Don’t disrespect his sacrifice, and more importantly, don’t disrespect _yourself_.”

“He was right though – I’m not a soldier, I shouldn’t have been there.”

“I saw you fighting,” Grew Work interrupted.  “You killed many dead and you survived.  You should feel pride for that.”

“Yes.  You should,” Jon agreed, locking eyes with his best friend.  Slowly, Sam nodded.

A soft whine made Jon and Sam’s head snap around.  Frowning, Jon walked towards the piles of carcasses of dead horses where the sound had come from.  His eyes widened in shock when he saw half buried underneath a horse a smattering of white fur.

“Sam!” Jon cried rushing forward, Sam close behind.  Grasping the dead horse with both hands, Sam and Jon heaved but it was just far too heavy for them.

“Over here!” Jon called over to Grey Worm.  “Help, please!”

Grey Worm and his fellow Unsullied hurried over, and with a few commands in Valyrian from Grey Worm the men moved to get a grip on the dead horse.  As one they all heaved while Jon grasped a good handful of white fur and pulled.  With a couple of strong pulls, Jon fell backwards as Ghost was pulled free.

Ghost quickly rolled onto his feet, shaking his dirty, bloody fur.  The Unsullied eyes widened at the sight of the large direwolf (they clearly hadn’t seen him up close before) but they were well trained and didn’t move.

Jon moved onto his knees and gestured to Ghost.  “Ghost, here boy.”

Limping heavily on one of his front paws, Ghost padded over to Jon.  Jon pressed his forehead to the direwolf’s, his hands burying in Ghost’s fur.  “I thought I lost you boy,” Jon whispered.  After a moment he pulled back, and he began running his hands over his body.  “Are you hurt?”

Thankfully – miraculously more like it – besides the limp it appeared that Ghost was uninjured.  Obviously the horse collapsing on him during the Dothraki’s charge had saved him from the wrath of the dead.

“Here, let me look at his leg,” Sam said, as Grey Worm turned with his fellow soldiers and began their search amongst the rest of the dead.

Ghost sat perfectly still as Sam ran his hands gently down Ghost’s leg.  “I don’t think it’s broken,” was his diagnosis.  “But it is swollen.  Just a very bad sprain.  I’m not sure if this will work for a direwolf…”  Sam fished through the pack of medical supplies he had thrown together and brought with him and pulled out a long strip of cloth.  He quickly and expertly wrapped it tightly around the swollen leg.  When he was done, Ghost stood – he still favoured the leg, but not as badly as before.

“And you thought Edd saving your life was a waste,” Jon said fondly, clasping Sam on the shoulder.  He turned to Ghost.  “Why don’t you head on back to Winterfell boy, get some rest.”

Ghost simply stared at Jon, his bright red eyes seeming to say “you have to be kidding”.

Jon smiled.  “Okay then.” With Ghost and Sam by his side, the three of them turned back to the piles of bodies around them and continued their grim work.

 


	3. Jaime, Brienne and Podrick

Brienne watched as Podrick walked back towards her after depositing an injured soldier in the great hall.  The two of them along with Jaime had been scouring the area immediately outside the outer walls for any survivors.  There had been precious few.

Podrick handed Brienne a wineskin and she accepted it gratefully, taking a swig to sooth her parched throat.

“You fought well Podrick,” Brienne said and Podrick’s lips turned up in a small smile.

“Only because you taught me well.”

“Perhaps.  Regardless, I’m glad you survived.” Brienne turned to where Jaime was hunting through bodies a few metres away – except for the occasional trip to the great hall with someone who was injured, the three had remained close by each other since the fighting had ceased, just as they had during the fight.  “Has Ser Jaime had anything to drink?”

When Podrick replied no, Brienne headed over to Jaime, wineskin in hand.

“Ser Jaime,” she called, and the man turned to face her.

“Ser Brienne,” he replied with a bow of his head and Brienne couldn’t stop a smile from creeping up at the title.  She handed him the wineskin and Jaime took a few gulps.

“I wanted to thank you,” Brienne told him.  “For saving my life out on the field.”

“And I wanted to thank YOU,” Jaime replied.  “For doing the same.”

Brienne nodded.  She watched Jaime for a few moments, a question on her lips that she wasn’t sure she should ask.

“What is it?” Jaime asked when he saw her hesitation.

“What will you do now?” she asked.  When she saw the confusion on Jaime’s face she elaborated.  “You came because you promised to fight for the living.  That fight is over now.  What will you do now?  Will you return to Kings Landing?”

Jaime scoffed.  “I think not.  Whether I was fighting to save all of our lives or not, I betrayed my sister.  I am sure she would execute me the second I returned.”

“What will you do?”

Jaime looked around him, thinking.  “I don’t know.  First thing I should do is see if the queen and the Starks will allow me to stay I guess.  I know that Cersei is planning on sending the Golden Company to wipe out the survivors of this war.  Whether I fight against her or leave and try and make a home elsewhere… I’m not sure yet.”  He paused uncertainly, and met Brienne’s eyes.  “Would YOU like me to stay?”

Brienne faced his gaze and the air hung heavy between them.  “I would,” she said softly, echoing the same words she had used not long before in Jaime’s defence.

Jaime nodded and for what felt like the first time in the longest time, he smiled.  “Then perhaps I will.”


	4. Daenerys and Missandei

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest first?” Missandei asked as the pair walked across the snowy field to where the two dragons lay waiting.

“I will rest as soon as I make sure my children are alright,” Daenerys replied.  She turned to look at her worried friend and smiled softly.  “I promise you that afterwards I WILL rest.”

Missandei nodded, appeased for the moment as they approached the dragons.  Drogon appeared to almost be watching over Rhaegal, who after fighting his undead brother appeared to be carrying the more severe wounds.

“My Drogon.  Sweet Rhaegel,” Daenerys soothed, reaching up with both hands to caress their snouts.  She hissed in sympathy as she observed the deep gashes in Rhaegals hide and bent down to pick up some fresh snow, using it to wash away the blood and gore away from the wounds.

“They look sad,” Missandei observed. 

“They had to attack their brother, something that has hurt them deeply.  And they know that I grieve for Jorah.  They share my pain.”

“I am sorry for your loss Your Grace,” Missandei sympathised.  “I know you cared deeply for each other.”

Dany stroked Rhaegal’s side as she fought back tears.   “He was my oldest friend.  From the day I met him he has looked out for me, protected me.  And now he is gone.  He died protecting me.”

“Then he would have died happy, knowing that you lived,” Missandei assured her.  “He would not have had it any other way.”

Dany nodded and several moments of silence passed as Dany continued to tend to her children.

“Down in the crypts…” Missandei begain.

Dany turned to face her friend.  “I am so sorry for what you had to face down there.  I wanted you to be safe.  If I had known…”

“You are not to blame,” Missandei assured her.  “We survived.  That is all that matters.  But down there… the Lady Stark.  She doesn’t trust you.”

Dany nodded slowly.  “I am aware.”

“What if that causes a problem?”

Dany turned back to her dragons, her hand reaching up once more to stroke Drogon’s snout.  “Then we will deal with it when the time comes.”


	5. Gendry, Tormund, the Hound and Davos

Gendry, Tormund and the Hound were in the courtyard of Winterfell, scooping up the dead and placing them on a cart they had managed to find intact.  Davos was nearby, supervising the dismantling of the defences to be used as firewood for the large pyres they were going to have to build to burn the sheer amount of dead that lay around Winterfell.

They mostly worked in silence – what could you say after surviving a massive battle with a dead army?

Gendry bent over and turned over one of the bodies and froze, realising he recognized the man.  He was one of his fellow smiths, and with a surge of guilt he realised that he didn’t even know his name.  He did remember though that he had a wife and child – had they survived the rising of the dead in the crypts?

“You alright lad?” Tormund said gently from nearby.

Gendry glanced up at the Wildling and then back down only to realise that his hands were shaking.  He flexed them unconsciously before rubbing them roughly on his pants of his legs.  He swallowed hard and nodded.

“I’m fine,” he muttered shortly.

“It’s alright if you’re not,” said Davos who had walked over when he saw Gendry freeze.  “There’s no shame in it.”

“We just survived a fight with the fucking dead,” the Hound interrupted, placing a body on the cart.  “None of us are fucking okay.  And anyone who says otherwise is lying or fucking insane.  Even the shewolf is affected, and she’s a cold bitch.”

“She’s not cold,” Gendry immediately responded in Arya’s defence.  “She’s just been through a lot.”

“Oh I know – I was there for some of it,” the Hound replied, grabbing a wineskin that was resting nearby and swigging down a drink before leaning forward to hand it to Gendry who accepted it thankfully.  “Though I suppose you were there for a bit too.”

“Who’s this?” Tormund asked.

“Arya Stark,” the Hound and Gendry replied in unison.

Davos frowned in confusion.  “You know Arya lad?  I didn’t know that.”

“They’ve known each other for years,” the Hound answered, taking the wineskin back off Gendry and taking another swig before handing it to Tormund.

Gendry elaborated when he saw Davos’ confused look.  “We travelled together for a fair while.  We left Kings Landing together after her father was executed.  She saved my life when the gold cloaks came looking for me – lied and told them I was already dead.”

“What would those fuckers want with you?” the Hound asked incredulously.

Gendry ignored Davos’ warning look.  “I’m one of Robert Baratheons bastards.  Joffrey was hunting them down.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Davos swore.  “What have I told you about keeping that to yourself?”

“We just fought together against the dead.  I think I can trust them not to kill me.”

“I don’t give a shit,” the Hound confirmed.

“Aye THEY might not care,” Davos said, lowering his voice.  “But there is a certain dragon queen who MIGHT.  Remember, your father killed her brother and took the crown off of her father – she might not be too happy hearing that there is a Baratheon right under her nose.”

Tormund was frowning.  “Baratheon.  Like Stannis?”

“He was my uncle.”

Tormund sniffed.  “Mad shit he was.”

Gendry bent down to pick up his fellow blacksmith and gently laid him on the cart.  “No argument from me there.  He tried sacrificing me to his god so he could be king.  If it wasn’t for Davos I would be dead.”

Davos was still looking around to ensure no one else could hear their conversation.  “You still might be if you keep going around telling every single person who you are.  Have you told anyone else besides Jon and these two?”

Gendry could feel his face flush and was glad for all the grime on his face that was hiding it.  He avoided Davos’ gaze and moved to inspect another body.  “Just Arya.”  At Davos’ frustrated sigh he defended himself.  “Arya and I trust each other – we’ve never kept secrets from each other and I wasn’t going to start now.”

Gendry looked up at the other three men and was met with the Hound’s scrutinising gaze.  “What?”

The Hound studied him for a moment before he huffed and rolled his eyes.  “You do realise that if you go sticking your cock in other cunts like that fat king used to she’s going to kill you.”  Gendry could hear the unspoken threat in his tone: _and if she doesn’t_ I _will_.

Gendry froze but held the Hound’s stern gaze.  “I won’t have to worry about that.  I’m not my father – I would never do that to her.”

Tormund was glancing between the two and then burst out laughing as he finally caught on.  He walked over and clapped Gendry on the back.  “I already thought you were brave lad, but you must have some _balls_ to be fucking Jon Snow’s sister.”

“What?!?”  Davos’ head whipped around to look at Gendry who was looking sheepish.  He threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Oh for FUCKS sake!”


	6. Tyrion and Varys

Tyion stood off to one side, observing all of the activity around him.  It wasn’t frantic, like the preparations before the dead arrived – instead it was more of a slow weariness.  Tyrion had to admire the people of the north – bone weary, almost at the point of exhaustion and they continued anyway because there was a job to do.

And here he stood, with no clue as to how he could contribute.  He felt completely helpless.

A soft sound to his left caught his attention.  Walking over to where he thought the sound had come from, he found a small girl huddled in a corner, softly crying.

“What’s wrong little one?” he asked.  He moved round to sit next to her, giving a comforting smile when the girl raised her head to meet his eyes.

“I was so afraid,” the girl sobbed quietly.

“You are certainly not alone there,” Tyrion assured her.

“But I wanted to be brave, just like my brothers.  I was going to defend the crypts but when the dead came… I was just so afraid.”  The girl broke down into more sobs.

“Hey,” Tyrion soothed.  “There is nothing wrong with being afraid.  I can assure you, there is not a single person here that was not afraid tonight.  I was afraid.  I am certain that Jon Snow was afraid, and the queen.  Even Arya Stark I’m sure was afraid, and SHE killed the Night King.”  Tyrion gently nudged the girls arm with his own.  “Being brave doesn’t mean that you’re not afraid – you cannot be brave without first being afraid.  You are here, you survived the dead – I think that makes you VERY brave.”

The girl gave Tyrion a watery smile at last.

“Do you have any family?  Mother?  Father?”

The girl shook her head.  “I have my brothers but I don’t know if…”

“All of the children are staying in the kitchens,” a voice cut in.  Tyrion looked up to find Varys standing over them.  He gave the girl a soft smile.  “If you’re brothers have survived I am sure they will be looking for you there.  And I’m sure the cook can rustle up some food for you.”

The girl smiled back and stood up, Tyrion with her.

“What’s your name?” Tyrion asked as the girl turned to leave.

“Neela.”

“Lovely to meet you Neela.  If your brothers come looking for you I will make sure to send them along to you.”

Neela smiled once more, then leaned over and gave Tyrion a quick hug before running off towards the kitchen, Tyrion watching her go until she disappeared from sight.

“Her brothers are most likely dead,” Varys said bluntly from behind him.

Tyrion turned to look at the eunuch, his mouth set in a grim line.  “You are probably correct, but we have all been through enough – no need to upset the poor girl anymore.”

“You were very good with her,” Varys said.

“Don’t sound so shocked, I happen to be very good with children.  My nephew and niece adored me.”  Varys raised an eyebrow at this.  “Tommen and Mycella of course – I think we all know Joffrey didn’t hold any great love for me.  Besides, it’s not like I can contribute much else at the moment.  If providing comfort to a small child helps in a small way then…”  He shrugged.  “Speaking of children, I saw you down in the crypts.  Protecting those children.  I must admit I was a little surprised.”

“I surprised myself,” Varys admitted.  “I saw you too – protecting Lady Sansa.”

“As much as I could, yes.”

“You are fond of her.”

“I’m fond of all the Starks, I always have been,” Tyrion deflected.  “They have this noble quality about them that is quite admirable.”

Varys’ gaze remained unflinching.

“I have always admired Sansa’s strength,” Tyrion finally continued.  “She has been through a lot these last few years.  I heard rumours about what her husband did to her – in a way I wish we could have stayed married simply so she could have been spared that pain.”

Varys nodded slowly.  “Only for that reason?”  Tyrion was silent.  “Lady Stark doesn’t much like our queen.  If things come to a head, will you be able to choose?”

Tyrion turned away from Varys, looking once more at the many people working away.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said softly.


	7. Arya, Sansa and Bran

The hall was slowly filling up with the wounded.  Bran sat in one corner watching everyone while Sansa was directing people as she walked back to where Arya was sitting leaning up against a wall.  She carried over with her a bowl of water, a cloth, and a needle and thread.

“Here,” Sansa said softly, sitting down in front of Arya.  She placed the bowl on the floor and soaked the cloth.  Gently holding Arya’s chin with one hand she began to gently clear the blood and filth from her sister’s face.  “Are you alright?”

Arya met Sansa’s eyes.  “It’s not the first time I’ve killed someone.  YOU know that.”

“Yes but you’ve never killed a Night King before,” Sansa chuckled and Arya huffed a laugh.

“First time for everything.”  She looked carefully at her sister.  “What about you?  You look… shaken.”

Sansa paused in her cleaning.  She took a moment to dip the cloth back in to the water and put it back towards Arya’s face before she answered.  “The dead rose in the crypts.  We lost some people.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The worst of it was the whole time I kept thinking this is my _family_ – the dead that rose were all Starks.  Strange thing to be thinking when you fear for your life.”

Arya shrugged.  “Not really.  When facing death you often can’t control the thoughts that enter your mind.  It’s natural.”

Sansa stared intensely at her sister.  “Have you faced death often?”

Arya shrugged indifferently.  “Once or twice.”

There was silence between the two for a few moments as Sansa finished with the cloth and grabbed the needle.  “This will hurt.”

“That’s okay, I’m no stranger to pain.”

Sansa winced at this, wishing it didn’t have to be true.  She had been through so much over the years – they all had.

Deciding to change the subject Sansa decided to bring something else up.  “That man that you spoke to in the courtyard – who was he?”

Arya paused for a moment as if she was unsure whether she wanted to answer.  “Gendry.  He’s a blacksmith.”

“How do you know him?”

“He’s an old friend.  We escaped Kings Landing together after Father… after.  We looked out for each other, kept each other safe.  Right up until the Red Woman took him from me.”

“Took him from you?” Sansa glanced down at Arya before resuming her work.  “This… Gendry was it?”  Arya nodded.  “Is he _just_ a friend?”

Arya didn’t respond straight away.  Finally she slowly shook her head.

Sansa nodded.  “I’m happy for you,” she said at last.

“Really?” asked Arya, shocked.  “You _do_ remember I said that he’s just a blacksmith right?”

“I was intended to marry a prince who was cruel and sadistic.  I escaped that only to be ultimately married to a lord who somehow ended up being even worse.  They were both horrible to me.  And it took me a while, but I soon learned the lesson that it isn’t titles that are important – not for a woman anyway.  Gendry – from what you tell me, he seems like a good man.”

“He is,” Arya agreed.

“Then I am happy for you,” Sansa repeated as she finished up her stitches.  “You deserve to be happy Arya.”

“So do you.”

Sansa smiled sadly.  “I’m not sure if I can have that anymore.”  Standing she pulled off her cloak and lay it down on the floor next to Arya.  “Here, get some rest.”

“No, I can –“

“ _Arya_.  You are exhausted.  You can’t help anyone if you collapse.  And besides, it would make me feel better, knowing that you were nearby, where I can see you.”

Arya nodded in understanding.  While Mellisandre’s words may have given her the confidence that she _could_ kill the Night King it was her fear of losing her little brother that was the driving force behind it.  If she admitted it to herself, she didn’t want to leave her family right now either.  She scooted back onto the cloak while Sansa stood and began to leave.

“Sansa?”  Arya’s voice sounded small, almost afraid.  Sansa turned and looked down at her little sister.  “I love you.”

Sansa inhaled before taking the few steps back to Arya and knelt down to crush Arya in a strong hug.  They held each other tightly for several moments as Sansa whispered “I love you too.”

Pressing a kiss to Arya’s forehead, Sansa watched as she lay down on the fur, then covered her over as best as she could as Arya’s breathing levelled out, falling asleep almost instantly.

Sansa left Arya to sleep and walked over to where Bran sat.  More and more wounded were being brought in and the great hall was starting to get crowded.  She would deal with them momentarily but first she needed a quick word with her brother.

Bran turned to face her as Sansa stood by him.  “Theon…?”

“He fought bravely,” Bran assured her. “He cut down all who attempted to pass.  In the end it was only the Night King himself who could bring him down.”

Sansa nodded, swallowing hard as she fought back tears.  She took a deep calming breath.  “Is it all over then?”

Bran stared in that offhand manner where one could tell he wasn’t actually looking at you, but rather through you.  “The Night King is certainly dead.  The Long Night has come to an end.  But it is not over.”  His gaze refocused to stare directly at Sansa.

“Cersei is coming.”


	8. Jon, Sansa and Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I had absolutely NO intention of adding any more to this story. But I had a few requests and then this idea popped in my head... at this point I now have no idea if any more chapters will follow.

Jon walked into the great hall with Ghost at his heels and surveyed the many wounded either asleep or being treated.  Sansa was kneeling next to one man, bandaging his leg.  Jon moved over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “How is everything going in here?”

Sansa finished her wrapping and stood to face her brother, her voice lowering to not disturb those sleeping around her.

“We have kept those with the worst wounds in here – those not life threatening we have moved to whatever rooms we can.  We have too many for them to stay in here.”

“Well I don’t think you have to worry about any more coming in – we’ve finished scouring the fields and we’ve brought in any that we found.”  Jon’s jaw clenched.  “It wasn’t many.”

“Any is better than none,” Sansa assured him.  She glanced behind Jon’s back.  “Where is your queen?”

“ _Our_ queen you mean,” Jon insisted.  “I know you don’t like her very much but it’s the way it is.  And if it wasn’t for Dany and her armies and her dragons I don’t think we would have stood a chance against the Night King.”

“And in exchange we march south to fight Cersei.”

“It was part of the deal yes.  But we need –”

Sansa raised a hand to silence him.  “I’m not going to argue with you Jon.  I know this is something we have to do – Cersei will be coming to destroy us whether we join the queen or not.  She won’t be content until she’s completely destroyed anyone who opposes her – she needs to go.”

Jon nodded.  He looked around the room once more.  “Where are Bran and Arya?”

“Bran wanted to rest so I had him taken to his room.  Arya is lying down over near the wall where I could keep an eye on her.”

Jon’s gaze followed where Sansa’s hand was pointing and found Arya curled up on Sansa’s cloak.  Walking over with Sansa and Ghost close behind, he quietly knelt by Arya’s side and watched her sleep for a moment.  He could see the fresh stitches on her forehead and the red bruises that had slowly bloomed over her face since he last saw her.  Gently, he leaned forward to tuck a lock of Arya’s hair behind her ear –

\- only to feel Arya’s hand suddenly grasp his own and a Valyrian steel dagger press to his throat.

Arya’s eyes widened when she finally realised who was sitting in front of her.  “FUCK Jon, don’t _do_ that,” she huffed, putting the dagger away and flopping onto her back.

“Sorry,” Jon said meekly.  He knew that she had killed the Night King but he was starting to get a good idea as to how she had done it – she had moved so incredibly fast.  “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Arya’s gaze softened and she sat back up.  “I’m fine.  Really.”  She turned to Sansa.  “How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours,” Sansa replied.

“Which is a few hours more than what either of you have had.  You both look exhausted.”  Arya looked around the room, searching.  “Has…”

“Your blacksmith hasn’t been here,” Sansa said with a small smirk.  “I heard he was helping to move the dead.”

Jon turned to look at Arya in confusion.  “You have a blacksmith?”

Jon wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he swore Arya looked a little… embarrassed?

“Gendry.  We… I mean I… he’s my… friend.”

Sansa dropped a hand on her brother’s shoulder.  “Prepare yourself brother, but our little sister is in love.”

“What?” Jon cried, a little too loudly, causing some of the nearby sleeping to stir.

“I never said that,” Arya denied.

Sansa arched her eyebrow.  “Are you saying you _don’t_ love him?”

Arya clamped her mouth shut but didn’t deny it causing Sansa to smirk even more

Jon continued to stare in shock at his little sister.  Arya was _definitely_ blushing now.  “What… how did this happen? He’s only been here for a few days!”

“We’ve known each other for years,” Arya admitted.  “It’s a long story, as are all of our stories.  We’ll have to sit down one day and tell them all.  Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Arya stood and began to leave.  She had only taken a few steps when Jon called out to her, and she turned.

“He’s still out in the courtyard,” he told her with a soft smile.

Arya smiled and nodded before taking her leave.

Sansa bent over to where Jon was still sitting on the floor so that her mouth was level with Jon’s ear.  “I’ll just leave you here to process this.  I’m going to get some rest.”

Patting him on the shoulder, Sansa turned and left the room while Jon remained seated, still a little overwhelmed.  He looked over Ghost who was now sitting beside him, watching him. He shook his head.

“I really do know nothing.”


	9. Jaime and Tyrion

Jaime found Tyrion sitting on a set of steps, a flagon beside him and a goblet in his hand.

“I see you found the wine,” Jaime commented, sitting down beside him.

Tyrion scoffed.  “It’s me – of _course_ I found the wine.” He offered Jaime his goblet, who took a sip before handing it back.  “Have you finished your search?”

Jaime nodded.  “Everyone who had some sense of life left in them has been taken into the great hall.  Brienne and Podrick went to get some rest – I thought I’d come to find you.”

“That’s because you knew I had the wine,” Tyrion said, raising his goblet in a mock toast.  “Ser Brienne of Tarth… that was an honourable thing you did for her.”

“There was nothing honourable in it – I was simply doing the right thing.  She should have been made a knight long ago – she has more honour than anyone I know.”

“I see.”  Tyrion watched his brother closely.  “Well, I am glad you have finally cut your ties with our sister.  Your relationship with Brienne is perhaps the healthiest one I have ever seen you have.”

“I’ve never had any other relationship besides with Cersei,” Jaime scoffed. “And I have never touched Brienne.”

“Oh I have no doubt of it,” Tyrion conceded.  “As the Lady said, you are indeed an honourable man, despite what you may think.  But no matter what your relationship is, whether it is as lovers, friends or simply fellow comrades-in-arms, I believe it is good for you.  I can see that you care for her, that you respect her – she brings out the best in you.”

Jaime was silent for a moment.  “I almost didn’t come here you know,” he said softly.  “I was going to stay by Cersei’s side.  I came because of Brienne.  She spoke to me, and while our words together weren’t long she was ultimately the one who convinced me to head north.”  He turned to look his brother in the eye.  “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Of course not, you have my word,” Tyrion said mock seriously.  He playfully nudged Jaime.  “Like I said – _the best_.”

Jaime smiled and took the goblet off Tyrion again, downing the rest of the contents.  This didn’t faze Tyrion, who simply took the cup back and refilled it.

“Now that the war with the dead is over, Daenerys plans to head south and confront Cersei,” Tyrion said.

Jaime nodded.  “I know.”

“Will you be joining us?”

Jaime shook his head slowly.  “I’m still undecided at this point.  How can I be involved in the death of my own sister?”

“To be fair, I’m sure she will have no trouble killing you,” Tyrion pointed out.  “She certainly had no qualms in sentencing me to death.”

“True.”  Jaime sighed.  “I know she is a terrible person.  I’ve seen the ruins in Kings Landing where she did what the Mad King had no chance to do.  But even if she was standing in front of me right now with a knife at my throat…  I still don’t know if I could kill her.”

“What if the knife wasn’t at your throat,” Tyrion countered.  “What if it was held at the throat of someone you cared about?”  Seeing Jaime’s stricken face at the thought he placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  “There is no need to think of such things now. Like I said, you are an honourable man and I have faith in you.  When the time comes, I am sure you will do the right thing.  No matter what that may be.”

Jaime sighed once more.  “I sure hope you are right little brother.”


	10. Brienne, Davos and Tormund

“Ser Brienne!”

Brienne turned and smiled as Davos approached her.   “Ser Davos,” she said warmly.  Glancing at the man walking behind him she suppressed an eye roll.  “Tormund.”

Tormund grinned.  “Where are you headed?”

“I am going to the kitchens - I thought I would see if there is anything I can eat before I get some sleep.”

“We were just heading there ourselves,” Davos said.  “Mind the company?”

“Of course not,” Brienne said with a bow of her head, ignoring Tormund’s delighted grin.

The trio continued through Winterfell until they reached the kitchen.  Their eyes widened at the sight of the floor littered with sleeping children.

“How can I help you?” a middle aged woman asked, stepping over one of the children.

“We were just after something to eat but if it’s too much trouble…” Davos said.

“No trouble – I’ve had several people coming in looking for a bite.  I think I still have some stew left.  Don’t mind the children – they’ll sleep through anything.”

The three of them tiptoed their way over to a small table and the cook came over with three bowls of stew and three mugs of ale.  They ate in silence for a while before Tormund finally spoke.

“The little man was right.”  At their questioning looks, he clarified.  “He said that we would all survive the dead.  We did.”

“Aye that’s right, I forgot about that,” Davos said.  “I must admit, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Thank the gods for Arya Stark,” Brienne said solemnly.

“She certainly saved my skin,” Davos told them.  “Saw her take down it must have been a dozen wights right in front of me with that fancy staff of hers.  It was most impressive.”

 “The little Stark is a tough one.  She would fit in well with my people.”  Tormund saluted Brienne with his mug.  “As would you lady knight – I saw you fight.  You were as fierce as a bear – the dead stood no chance.”  Tormund raised his eyebrows suggestively.  “If you ever wanted to join the Free Folk, you will be most welcome.”

“Yes, well,” Brienne flushed.  “Thank you, but I have sworn to protect Lady Sansa – I am needed here.”

“Speaking of the Free Folk,” Davos intervened.  “The White Walkers are gone, the wall has been destroyed – will you be returning home or staying here?”

Tormund shrugged.  “I don’t know.  We have been trying to travel beyond the wall for so long to escape the walkers.  But the north is our home.  Some may return, some may not.”

Davos nodded, then downed the last of his ale.  “Well I am going to get some rest before I fall asleep in this bowl.  It’s been a long day… or night.  Or has it been two days… I don’t even know anymore.”

“As will I,” said Brienne, rising to her feet.  Tormund and Davos followed and they began making their way out of the kitchen.

A few metres from the exit, Davos froze as he was about to step over a small girl who was curled up asleep.  He immediately spotted the distinctive scars on the side of her face and a soft smile spread over his face.  “She survived,” he breathed.

“You know her Ser Davos?” Brienne asked quietly, not wanting to disturb her.

“No not really.  I met her just yesterday – she wanted to fight, so she said she was going to protect the crypts.  She reminds me so much of a little girl I once knew – one I loved like a daughter.  She was smart and brave and kind and she was murdered.”

“I am so sorry,” Brienne said sympathetically.

“So was I.”

The sound of shuffling made Davos turn.  Tormund had somehow found an unused blanket and he moved past them to drape it over the sleeping girl.  Davos smiled at him in thanks and the three finally took the last few steps to leave the kitchen.

Outside, they paused a moment in a small circle, simply appreciating each other’s company, glad that each and every one of them had survived.

“Sleep well,” Davos said, and as one they all turned and went their separate ways to get some well-earned rest.


End file.
